That very quiet time, yet neither day nor longer night,
Just before those mighty steeds are yoked;
Not have they stretched their necks or shook their manes,
Nor struck the sky with either eager hoof,
A mild time when the saffron queen leaves her lovers bed,
When she kisses bye his grey bearded cheek,
Like every day to return soon to rest in his arms except once;
For that day, a command reached her pretty ears,
And the words humming carrying with it a gentle breeze,
Whispering her marriage bed may remain warm.
Oh! For that time to come again, when I may be blessed,
No reddening sky would appear on to my eyes,
Nor would I be adorned with the birdcalls of the morning,
And the stars would stay on their sighted paths,
And the bright torch, her white chariot may hover awhile.

Why I would want this, dear reader, you ask.
Why would a man ever not wish the land to bathe in colour?
To not feel warmth of Apollo's light on his face,
Shrouded by damp night and surrounded by her gloomy wings?
My answer comes from that little winged boy.
From a time when his divine mother herself rose out of the foam,
Gently squeezing the water from out her hair,
A time when with a soft white hand and her tender embrace,
Made her love eternal with her young hunter:
As of from that day and the span of ten lunar months lapsed,
This naked little boy, quiver and bow to match,
With ordained skill has taut his string many a time to his chest,
And his whistling arrow has never missed its target.

For it is with love then; I bid not the amber glow from the east,
Nor the oriental globe to ascend before me.
If the burning disc of heavenly light rises a new in the sky,
I for one can never hide on my face my sorrow.
My head droops and with added weight of woe my shoulders,
Like the heavy rains that cause leaf to slump;
Fall towards the ground, because it is at this time that I know,
That I must leave my utmost joy behind me again.
Oh **** me! Aye, for any of my prayers to be duly answered,
For earths eyelid to be closed and shut tight,
For me to hold her towards me and to hear her heart beat,
To give me this one prolonged night with my love.

What would I do? Many have laid curses on the pointed shaft,
That straight arrowhead which struck them pure,
And many have spat at the ground their accursed feet walk on;
Wild love has never been a very gentle creature.
She will savagely swim in your blood and make it boil red,
Cause war with death in heated misunderstanding,
Make women pull their hair and beat their chest with moans,
And make men stream tears down their cheeks.

What can I do? Even the greatest lovers are left with woe,
Do I content myself with her blush as I kiss her?
Leave unhappy and imprint a smile on my face that's dishonest,
And hug her falsely with lack of my true wants?
Oh **** me! Grant me this one night with my sweet delight,
Stay your golden chariot sire, as you did before,
So I may savour her not unlike you when you gazed your love,
Caressing your desire and sending her to the stars.
Oh! To have within me powers to control those three sisters;
Those talented three in which they create life's path,
With sped fast supple fingers, they do spin their wheel around.
The ability to weave and thread as if like they do,
I would entwine my thread with yours, fuse together our weave,
And with Fate forever cross mine with your own.